The War of the Succession
by jamesth1
Summary: Power abhors a vacuum. 4 years after Voldemort's defeat, five pretenders rise to compete for the title of Dark Lord, and the Death Eaters, under Dolohov, continue to terrorize England. Everybody's favorite hero must lead the world out of darkness...again.
1. Prologue: The Marshals

Prologue

Bellatrix Lestrange, Severus Snape, and Antonin Dolohov filed into the dimly lit room. Shadows surrounded every corner except for the spot where they eventually stood and a small bit of light where their master sat.

Bellatrix, as usual, was twitchy and jerky in her movements, occasionally shrugging her shoulders and tugging at a lock of scraggly black hair in swift, confused motions. After so long in Azkaban, a child could tell she was mad. Her eyes were constantly cast adoringly at the Dark Lord.

Severus stood with his hands behind his back and his feet shoulder width apart, head bowed slightly in subservience to his master but with an unflappable calm. Years of Occlumency did that to people. Even now, shortly after the death of Albus Dumbledore, Snape was able to show no grief, no pain, no fear. It was necessary for survival.

Dolohov barely moved, every muscle in his squat body tense, but his face had a puzzled look. A lot of that was just his face, which may have been taken for that of an idiot, but Dolohov was no Crabbe or Goyle. He was, in his own way, one of the more deadly of the Death Eaters. He was a brilliant tactician and guerrilla fighter, even if Voldemort did not take advice. Dolohov was never a supporter of the plan to fetch the prophecy that resulted in the capture of so many Death Eaters or of the Dark Lord's fixation on Harry Potter. Because Dolohov was so intelligent, he was also smart enough to know that these things were better off unsaid. Some people would say after the war that if Dolohov had been in charge, the Death Eaters would have won.

The Dark Lord's head was bowed. He was silent.

After what seemed like an eternity, he lifted his head and looked at all three of them. "You three are my most trusted."

All three bowed their heads and murmured thanks.

"However, I still do not trust you enough." The Dark Lord rose from his throne and paced slowly towards them. Bellatrix immediately went stock still, mouth slightly open, left hand gripping her hair. Snape followed the Dark Lord with his eyes. Dolohov's puzzlement grew. The Dark Lord's head remained bowed.

The Dark Lord raised his wand and pointed it downwards. "You will swear to each other."

Bellatrix thrust her hand forward without a further thought. Snape and Dolohov did so after looking at each other quickly. They were both thinking the same thing.

_An unbreakable vow. Wonderful._

And in Snape's mind. _Dammit. Not again._

"Will you swear never to repeat to anyone else, or in any way communicate or transfer knowledge to anyone else, of what you are about to learn in this room, until I have given permission?"

That didn't leave them much choice. "I swear, my Lord."

_There go any Pensieve options. This just keeps getting better and better. _On the inside, Snape scowled.

The Dark Lord withdrew his wand.

"Now you are ready."

He flicked his wand lazily at the darkness behind him. All three Death Eaters heard a door open and a small group of people step forward. They came into the light in sequential order.

There were five. They were all clad in nondescript dark robes.

The first was a thin man with high cheekbones and a pair of squared spectacles. He looked to be about fifty, but as this was the wizarding world, there was really no telling. His look was that of a schoolmaster, and his graying hair was harshly clipped. He calmly assessed the three Death Eaters, eyes widening when he looked at Bellatrix. _The Professor, _Severus named him.

The second to emerge from the darkness was a small woman. Her face was leathery and tanned, as if she had spent a lot of time in the sun. Her eyes could have been warm if she had done anything else in her life – she looked like a kind person – but they were empty brown pools. Her hair was in a ponytail, pouring down her back in long tresses. She actually smiled at them. _The Farmer, _Severus named her.

The third was a blonde man with a jutting jaw. He looked like a hero. He wore a slight smirk on his face, but there was no superiority in it. He gave off an air of strength and resolve. He was not particularly large, and he did not have the aura of magic around him that powerful wizards did, but something about him spoke of true power. He gave each Death Eater a nod. _The Paladin, _Severus named him, for that was what he looked like.

The fourth was a thin, big-eyed black man. He was slightly taller than the Professor and the Paladin. Despite his thin frame, he was physically powerful. His face was filled with a brutish rage, not as an expression but as a mark, like something he had borne his whole life. He carried himself like a soldier. He looked at each of the Death Eaters in turn, sizing them up. _The Berserker. _With his body posture, Severus was almost afraid the man would attack them.

The last man was Asian. He had thick grey eyebrows and a small grey goatee. Unlike the rest, he carried an unmistakable air of superiority. He walked with his head held high and his hands clasped in front of him. He was rather shorter than the Paladin but not as short as the Farmer. His hands were callused with the ridges that only a swordsman has. Severus had a hard time coming up with a name for him. _Swordsman _sounded too shallow, not quite a good descriptor. _The Sentinel, _Severus decided. He couldn't get over the way the man just watched them. He made no expression.

The Dark Lord stood for a while, surveying the five. Then he turned to his three most loyal Death Eaters. Or so he thought.

"These are my five Grand Marshals. When England has finally been…subdued, these five will spring into action. They will launch pure and righteous movements in the rest of the world to secure my power. They are five capable and experienced Dark Wizards. Until then, they are to remain hidden."

The Dark Lord looked at the floor a moment. "England shall only be subdued when I have caught and destroyed Harry Potter. There must be nothing else."

Dolohov almost rolled his eyes before he caught himself.

"For North America and Australia, Anthony Cheever." The Professor.

"For South America and the Pacific, Julia Velasquez." The Farmer.

"For continental Europe and western Russia, Michael Dornberg." The Paladin.

"For Africa and the Middle East, Olusegun Deya." The Berserker. Severus was surprised the Dark Lord could pronounce it. He certainly couldn't.

"For Eastern Asia, Ardchilsan Evsel." The Sentinel. Severus was puzzled. What kind of culture had that name? Not Chinese. Not Japanese. Not Indian. No…Severus pawed through the not inconsiderable cultural knowledge of nations he had gained from Potions conferences and his work for Dumbledore and the Dark Lord. _Mongolian. _That was interesting. Had something happened in Mongolia recently that he was unaware of?

"The reason you must know each other," the Dark Lord said quietly, "is that there may be a time when I appear to be dead and gone."

Bellatrix gazed at him in rapture. Dolohov grew attentive suddenly. Snape's face didn't change, but alarm bells started going off in his head. Whatever this was, it was important.

"This has happened before, but it will not be permanent. I cannot die." The Dark Lord smiled slowly and languorously.

_So you think. _Severus scowled on the inside. He had no great love for Harry Potter, but he certainly hoped the brat did right by Dumbledore's plan. He even hoped he would be there to see the smugness get blasted off the Dark Lord's face.

"However, if this situation does occur again, I cannot allow my gains, so great, to fall apart until I have once again returned. This happened before. This cannot happen again. Therefore, I must have a contingency plan." He said this with an air that he was fully convinced of his wisdom. He even shot a look at Dolohov, his strategist, to make sure he approved. Dolohov did approve, and had the sense to show it. Anything else would have drawn the Dark Lord's ire. He didn't need that.

"If I disappear again, I shall return. You can be guaranteed of that. Until then, someone must maintain my work. That responsibility belongs to the five Grand Marshals, and you three. You are expected to work with them, and they are expected to work with you. One of you will lead the Death Eaters after I have gone. For that, I choose…Dolohov."

Bellatrix's face slackened. "But…my Lord…"

"Do not fear, darling Bella." The Dark Lord stroked Bellatrix's cheek with one long finger. She sighed. Dolohov and Severus wanted to throw up. "You shall have the responsibility of tracking my spirit down and reviving me."

"Severus…" Voldemort looked at him carefully. "By killing Dumbledore, you have forever compromised your ability as my spy. Your responsibility, therefore, will be the execution of Harry Potter and his allies should I disappear once more. Doubtless you have no problems with that?"

"No, my Lord." However, Snape knew that even should he try, it would fail because of that prophecy. The Dark Lord did not know the whole prophecy. But at least that meant that none of the others would be trying to kill the Potter brat, and Snape could continue to carry out his penance for Lily. Watching over him.

Voldemort smiled again. "My last directive for this plan. Should I disappear again, there is a minimum waiting period of four years. We will allow the magical world to grow complacent and weak once more. The Death Eaters will lie low. _No stunts. _Nothing like what you pulled at the World Cup two years ago. The Marshals will lie low. Severus will await his chance. Bella will search the Earth for me.

"You have all taken Unbreakable oaths. Those oaths will expire in four years. When that time comes – four years from my disappearance – you will all strike at the same time. Coordinate, poise, and strike. At that time, and that time only, Bella will resurrect me. Do you all understand?"

They all answered in the affirmative, each Grand Marshal bowing their heads in unison as they assured him that they would abide by his wishes.

Voldemort nodded. Then he gestured to his Grand Marshals. "We have much to talk about. Severus, Bella, Antonin. Leave us."

The three Death Eaters left. As they closed the door behind them and entered one of the many halls of Malfoy Manor, Bella trotted off, lost in her thoughts and madness. Dolohov raised his eyebrows to Snape, who gave a curt nod. They both entered the nearest room, which turned out to be a spare bedroom.

"Well?" Snape asked as Dolohov shut the door.

Dolohov looked at him. "It's a good plan. But…" Dolohov waved his wand and warded the room from intrusion. Secrecy was one of his talents.

"I am not as convinced of the Dark Lord's immortality as he." Dolohov finished.

Snape quirked an eyebrow again. This was the most he had ever heard any Death Eater doubt.

"Why not? He is the Dark Lord. He has returned once. Why not again?"

"There are ways." Dolohov waved his hand. "I know there are ways to keep one from dying. I do not know the details, but they exist. I do know that these ways can also make someone extremely vulnerable. The Dark Lord did not always look like he does. And I also believe that whatever the Dark Lord did to make himself immortal, it has hindered his judgment in some respects. He was not so blind to reality before."

Snape did not know what to think. Why was Dolohov telling him this? Why was Dolohov even saying this out loud? Was the man insane?

No. If he was truly insane, he would have told this to Bellatrix. And they both knew how well _that _would have gone.

Dolohov rubbed his sweaty forehead and sighed. Then he shot Snape an intense look. "I also know other things."

Snape met his eyes and, though he didn't show it, was suddenly alert. Dolohov knew something. This was no bluff.

"For instance, I know that you defeated Albus Dumbledore. No surprise, right?"

Snape relaxed about two hairs. This was leading up to something.

"But I also know that Dumbledore had something in his possession that the Dark Lord wants. The Elder Wand."

Okay, alarm bells were definitely going off now. Snape's calm prevented shock from passing across his face, but Dolohov smiled anyway.

"Oh, don't worry. The Dark Lord doesn't know. And I know you won't tell him. I don't want him to know. And you don't want him to know. Because if he knows…then he'll kill you. Because the Elder Wand won't be bound to him. He will be forced to kill you to gain its power."

Snape snorted. "Do you really believe in the fairy tales of the Elder Wand, Dolohov? The Three Brothers?"

Dolohov turned away and ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't believe. Not until the Ministry. Not until I saw it in the old man's hand."

Snape cursed Dolohov's eye for detail. The man was too damn smart for his own good. He wondered for a split second if he should dispose of him now. He was a slightly better dueler than Dolohov. No. No, that would be noticed.

"Why don't you want him to know that the Elder Wand has been under his nose all this time, Dolohov? Surely you want the Dark Lord to rule? Surely you live to serve him?"

Dolohov nodded. "Oh, of course I do. But I worry about his mental state. I truly only see this as a sign of things to come. I fear that if the Dark Lord discovers the Elder Wand, he will be encouraged by his find, and keep hunting down artifacts that will make him stronger. He will not worry about his administration, his forces, his war. He will be so concerned with his fight to be free from death that he will not worry about the fight to inflict death on others. So you see, I am serving him in my own way. I am looking out for his mental state."

Snape nodded. Dolohov was smart, he deserved credit for that. A lot of what he said was true. As long as Dolohov did not know that Draco Malfoy was truly the master of the Elder Wand, all was well as far as Snape was concerned. Snape was the only one living who knew that; he concealed that knowledge to protect Draco.

"Why tell me?"

Dolohov simply shrugged and said, "If the Dark Lord decides he must kill you to gain the Elder Wand, that would be…most unfortunate. You are a valuable asset to the Death Eaters. Your survival is required. The Dark Lord would simply have to defeat you, not kill you. However, he never sees it in those terms." Dolohov withdrew a small, corked tube and handed it to Snape.

Snape took it and examined it. It was a clear substance with a faint tinge of yellow. Even with his vast knowledge, he did not immediately identify it.

"That is a sample of Nagini's venom."

Snape looked up from the vial to meet Dolohov's eyes.

"You want me to make an antidote."

"Yes. The Dark Lord would not kill a _loyal_ follower by his own hand; he would rather use Nagini to do it. That's how he does things. If he must kill a loyal man, he doesn't like to do it himself. Make an antidote. Keep it handy. We can't afford to lose you."

Snape pocketed it. He and Dolohov faced each other a while. Then Snape said,

"What will be your strategy if the Dark Lord vanishes?"

Dolohov shrugged. "Guerrilla warfare. Strike at the weak spots. The Dark Lord has always been hesitant to use any kind of Muggle devices, but I am not. Bombs, snipers, traps. Terror. If people stop believing in the government, the government will fall. We don't even need to do it ourselves. And we will tackle the Order of the Phoenix directly. No messing around with them."

If anybody could pull that off, Dolohov could. However, now the other Death Eater looked at him and asked, "How will you kill Harry Potter?"

Snape smirked. "He trusts his friends. I will use that against him. Poison in his food. Stabbed in his bed. A bomb, like your suggestion. If the Dark Lord vanishes again, he will not be looking for it."

"You speak true." Then he grimaced. "I don't know how I feel about waiting four years. That trick won't work again."

"The Ministry became soft and weak after the Dark Lord fell the first time. I doubt it will happen again the same way. Maybe four years will be enough, though."

Dolohov shook his head and left the room. Snape sat on the richly patterned bed and considered.

If the Dark Lord discovered – incorrectly – that Snape was the master of the Elder Wand, he would certainly try to kill him. The Dark Lord never did things by halves. Snape felt his coat and patted the small vial. Dolohov had a point. It never hurt to take precautions.


	2. Chapter 1: FastForward I

Author's Note: Whole story follows canon, except the Epilogue. Never cared for that thing anyway. I am therefore adopting an "Anyone Can Die" approach. Consider yourselves warned.

**Three Hours After**

_Ouch._

Snape finished wrapping the bandage around his neck. He hadn't been sure the antidote would work. It was a combination of a slow-burning stasis potion and the counteraction to Nagini's venom. Snape would slowly venture into a paralyzed state, mimicking death; the state would wear off after a few hours had passed – it had looked to be early morning by the time Snape awoke – and the taker would regain motor functions. Snape designed it this way so he would almost certainly appear dead to anybody but a skilled Potions master, and a skilled Potions master the Dark Lord was not.

_I would guess that the antidote could be vastly improved, _he thought, collapsing in exhaustion and pain on the floor of the Shrieking Shack (why did he always end up almost dying here? Why, for the love of God?) _by the addition of a blood thickener and some painkiller._

_BECAUSE THIS REALLY HURTS._

After a few minutes, Snape finally gained the strength to stand up shakily. He'd lost a lot of blood. He had accounted for the venom, but had failed to account for horrific blood loss. At least he could improve the potion. He'd almost not had a chance.

As he staggered forward and leaned against the wall, Snape considered. Why was he so worried about staying alive? The Dark Lord would just kill him anyway. Unless…

Snape rolled up his sleeve.

When he saw his arm, he let out a shuddering gasp and almost started crying.

It was over, then. The brat…no…the boy had succeeded. Snape hadn't even been convinced that the Potter boy would do it. Sacrifice himself like that.

But…if the Potter boy had done what was necessary, it was a shame he had to die like that, but Snape found that he had gained a great deal of respect for the boy. Potter had given his life to kill the Dark Lord. And someone else had finished the job.

Too bad Snape hadn't gotten to see it.

But what did Snape really have to live for now? The Dark Lord was dead. Lily's child was dead. He had totally succeeded on one front and completely failed on the other. And to think…the way he treated the boy…he couldn't even say that he'd tried to make his life as best he could.

His eyes burned with tears again. He had never loathed himself as he did now. He had had a chance. A chance to gain a faint light of redemption in the darkness of his soul. Lily was gone, the last bright light he would ever know, but her son offered a last chance. A chance to sustain her memory. And what had he done? Made every moment with the boy a living hell for him, and then led him to his death.

Why had he hated the boy? Potter? His father? Snape clutched his forehead. The way Snape had behaved…he had become what he most hated. And more. A hundred times worse. What Potter had done to him at school was not a blip on what he had done to his son. Where he could have been a mentor, he made sure the child knew that he loathed him, goaded his godfather to his death, and led the boy to his. Snape deserved to die.

He straightened. That was it. He deserved to die. And even then, Snape doubted that suicide was the way to go. He didn't even deserve the luxury of a quick _Avada Kedavra_. No, he deserved far worse.

He deserved the Dementors.

That was what he would do. He would go back to the castle and let them arrest him, jail him, convict him, give him to the Dementors. Nobody had known of his sacrifices for Lily except for Dumbledore, who was dead, and Potter, who was now also dead. No one knew. They would take him and the Dementors would eat his soul.

If there was any soul left.

Snape stumbled towards the entrance to the tunnel. He made it to the front steps of the castle before he collapsed.

He would have just been another body in a few hours if Neville Longbottom, of all people, had not found him a few minutes later.

Ginny Weasley left the Room of Requirement, shutting the door carefully. Interestingly enough, the Fiendfyre damage did not destroy the room – if she had to guess, it had only harmed that incarnation if it. So when Ginny, supporting Harry, had hobbled back and forth in front of it, asking for a place where her boyfriend could sleep undisturbed, she got it. He needed that rest.

As for herself…Ginny looked down and grimaced. Blood, dust, a small wound or two of her own. Of course, the greatest wounds she carried were not physical. Oh, but it hurt to think about that.

Because it happened right here. Right outside the Room of Requirement. Ginny knelt beside the hole that had been blasted in the side of the school. She knelt and wept. She wept for a long time. When she was done, after what may have been minutes or what may have been forever, she stood shakily and walked towards the Gryffindor dorms.

The Gryffindor Quidditch team had had a motto imposed by Fred and George for an after-game routine, the three B's: butterbeer, bath, and bed. Ginny smiled a little through her tears and decided that this was the best way to remember Fred: all the little jokes and pranks he loved so much.

No, not a butterbeer this time. Just something to eat. Anything. Ginny shook her head and made her way for the Great Hall.

She was in the entrance hall when Neville came in bearing Severus Snape.

Ginny, like everybody else, had heard what Harry said when confronting Voldemort and everything had clicked. She _knew _that Snape had been far more lenient than he had to be during their active resistance. And from what she discerned from the Trio's babble immediately after the battle, Snape had somehow slipped them the Sword of Gryffindor. Which was why he didn't want it stolen.

She almost laughed a little upon realizing that if they had succeeded, they might have accidentally doomed the war effort.

Funny, the way these things happen.

She didn't say a word when she saw Neville. She immediately ran over and helped him. They redistributed the load between them, Ginny taking his feet and Neville taking his shoulders.

"What in the name of Merlin happened to _him?"_ Ginny wondered, gazing at the bandage and the blood.

Neville gasped for air as they carried him. "Don't…know…_Sectumsempra…_maybe?"

"It would be fitting," Ginny muttered as they pulled him into the Great Hall. Few people noticed. Most of them were tending their own wounds. Which reminded Ginny of a nasty cut she had on her leg, courtesy of Bellatrix Lestrange, and what she thought might be a few broken ribs.

But her mom had put paid to Bellatrix Lestrange. And had almost embarrassed Ginny in the process.

Oh well.

As they laid him on one of the tables next to a fourth-year Ravenclaw, who was crying and holding a severely burnt limb, Madam Pomfrey bustled over.

"Another one? Who's…" She stopped and gaped for a second, before instinct took over. She whipped out her wand and crossed it over the fallen professor's chest.

"Is he…"

"Alive? Yes, but just barely."

Ginny missed on the rest of Neville's and Pomfrey's conversation as she stepped around the other people in the hall to look for her family again. She saw Hermione with an arm around a crying Dennis Creevey, and Ron helping several Order members round up the fallen Death Eaters.

She heard snatches of conversation as she went past.

"…why he did what he did. There's no…"

"…he left me. Why couldn't I…"

"…missing quite a few. Too many. Something's…"

"…Dolohov, Greyback, Rabastan Lestrange. Still unaccounted for. At least that bitch…"

Ginny finally found her family gathered around a small assortment of sandwiches, eating tiredly. She grabbed one and began filling the hole in her stomach.

Fred was gone. Tonks was gone. Lupin was gone. But the two great heroes of the war survived, and that was more than Ginny had really expected. There was always a small part of her that had believed that Harry would die, that there was no way he could face Voldemort and survive. But he had. God bless him, he had. And so had the man who had made her boyfriend's survival possible.

A lot of people would be lining up to thank Professor Snape if he recovered. The look her potion master's face would bear when that occurred brought a smile to hers.

**Three Days After**

Twelve men and two women. All that remained.

Only two members of the inner circle. Rabastan Lestrange.

And him.

Dolohov surveyed what was left of the Death Eaters. It was as he suspected. The Dark Lord's lack of logic, his fixation on Harry Potter, and his ego had brought about his downfall. And though a few of the Death Eaters believed he would rise from the dead again, Dolohov knew better.

Fat chance.

Dolohov had known few things about horcruxes, but knew their function. When Potter had announced that he had destroyed them, Dolohov knew the game was up. The Dark Lord would not return. Ever. Again.

And what did this mean?

It meant that in four years the Wizarding world would be smacked with something they would definitely not be expecting.

Five Grand Marshals. And with the Dark Lord's death – not disappearance, but death – nothing would unify them. Five Grand Marshals would become five Dark Lords. They would fight amongst themselves, and the world could very well shatter as a result, because these blokes were powerful.

Ever since they had been introduced, Dolohov had run background checks on the Marshals, using his operatives. They were all to be feared, and they all had different strengths and weaknesses. Far more of the former than the latter.

What place was there for the remaining Death Eaters in this? Not much. Even then, Dolohov was still bound by the Unbreakable Vow. He was forbidden to give away anything about them. There was nothing he could really do to stop it.

Were any of them single-handedly as strong as the Dark Lord? Dolohov could not imagine, but he could not imagine what had happened in the Second War either. For all he knew, they could be.

They were very strong, though. At least as strong individually as Severus Snape, who Dolohov realized by now was a traitor. Dolohov was not particularly enraged. Rage was not his way. But Severus Snape had his hands tied just like Dolohov. He was still bound by the Unbreakable Vow, too. He could say nothing for four years. It didn't matter if Bellatrix could, either. She wouldn't be saying anything in four years or a hundred. Or ever.

The Wizarding world would get the surprise of its life in three years and 362 days. If Dolohov was to have any hope of regaining a chance to take over Britain, he would have to wait. Build up his forces. Stockpile his resources. They were here in a secret place on one of the Channel Islands, called the Redoubt. It was warded from detection, enough that no Muggle or Wizard could ever find it. He was also the Secret-Keeper.

Dolohov knew that he was smart. He was not particularly strong. He would become stronger. He would gather more pure-blood activists from across the world, build the Death Eaters, and sow the seeds for his success in Britain. It would be careful. It would be intelligent. And it would be smart. In four years' time, a new Reign of Terror would begin.

Dolohov relaxed into a chair, and gestured for the other Death Eaters to do the same.

Even if he couldn't challenge the Marshals when they rose, he could wait for his opportunity, and side with the one that turned out to be most powerful. Who knew? He could have more than Britain. He could have all of Europe. And if he played his cards right with that Marshal, he could have the world eventually.

You had to start somewhere.

**Three Weeks After**

_And if I do? _Snape wondered. _What if I do decide to tell them about the Marshals? I'll tell them, I'll die, and both objectives will be fulfilled._

_Ah, _said that nagging little illogical voice in the back of his head, _but is death what you really desire?_

"Of course it is," Snape muttered to himself, sitting in the dank office that had been his workplace for years. Oh, they called him a hero. They put him up in the castle. They attended to his needs. They'd fixed the wound in his neck and the ones on his body. They looked at him adoringly, except for maybe a few of the Gryffindors and a few of the Slytherins, but those made sense in their own ways. Bugger it all, Potter even looked at him with respect and approval now. What he would have given to see that look coming from Lily…

And yes, James Potter. Better respect than scorn.

But had any of them given him what he really wanted? What he lacked for the first time he could remember?

Purpose.

Without purpose there was no reason for life. If by telling the forces of Light his last secret, Snape would die, that would fulfill his purpose and give him no need for purpose anymore.

To give himself something to live for, Snape would have to die for it.

Ha. Catch-22. He had read that book once. That was actually pretty funny. Snape chuckled.

"I really shouldn't be considering a life-or-death situation like this when I'm drunk off my arse," he considered out loud. There were a number of flasks of firewhiskey lined up on his desk, and a half-empty one in his hand. "Nothing else to do, though."

He sat there thinking about it for a few minutes more.

Maybe he should tell them now. They could go ahead and hunt down the Grand Marshals and get rid of them.

But Dolohov was still alive…somewhere…and he knew, too. He was too smart to tell. Snape didn't know where the Marshals were, and certainly didn't know where Dolohov was. The man could be anywhere. And besides those blokes, Dolohov would almost certainly be giving Wizarding Britain a nasty surprise come four years.

Hm. Snape could at least tell them about that.

But no, dammit. No, the four-year thing itself was included in the Unbreakable Vow.

Oh well. Snape doubted Dolohov was even still in England.

He was still thinking about these things. He was not close to drunk enough yet.

Of all things, Snape tended to get friendlier when he got drunk. It was probably the only time he was friendly. Which was why he didn't scowl when he heard a knock on his door.

"Enter," he shouted in a voice that was entirely too peppy for him.

Despite his inebriation, Snape still had to fight the urge to roll his eyes when Potter, of all people, entered. Great. This night was just getting better and better.

"Am I interrupting anything, sir?" The boy was half-smiling, dammit.

Snape looked at the bottle in his hand. "Nothing important, Potter." He tucked the half-filled bottle into his desk drawer, glanced at the other two bottles perched on his desk, and took both of them as well and put them on the shelf behind him. Then he interlocked his fingers behind his head. "What do you want now?"

Potter blinked. "Sir, if you'd like me to go…" So he was uncomfortable around a relaxed, relatively chill, drunken Snape? Would he rather have the sarcastic asshole back? If he really wanted that, he could come back tomorrow morning for what was sure to be a double dose.

"No no. Best have it out now, while I'm in a good mood. An artificial good mood, but a good mood nonetheless."

Potter blinked again, shrugged, and entered the room fully, closing the door behind him. He clasped his hands behind his back, shifted his feet, and cleared his throat.

_Oh great. He wants to…_

"If you're going to tell me how much of a hero I am, I've heard enough of that to almost make those seventeen years of my life not worth it," Snape growled.

"Or if you want to throw in my face the ill-treatment you and all your friends suffered at my hands, fine. But I'll probably just start weeping again, being as drunk as I am.

"Or you want to hear about the last Death Eaters. I don't know where they are, I already told the Aurors that a million times."

"Or if you want to talk about potions, you will have earned maybe not my everlasting adulation, but certainly my everlasting surprise."

The Potter boy shook his head. "I didn't want to talk about any of that, sir."

Snape waved his hand. "And drop the sir. I don't deserve it."

Potter raised a hand to his forehead and muttered something incomprehensible. Then he shook his head fiercely and looked up again to meet Snape in the eyes.

Snape scowled at the ceiling. "Only things people want to talk to me about these days fall in four categories. How much of a hero I am, what a terrible person I am, Voldemort, and potions. It's always either information or a personal issue with their perception of me. Why should you be any different, Potter?"

"I wanted to know about my mother, sir."

Snape's face froze. Then it melted into an expression of puzzlement. "That's it?"

"I never knew her, sir."

So it happened that a very drunk Snape turned to the only thing he could think of that would cheer him up. Memories of Lily. He told Harry about Lily until his throat went dry, sometimes seeming to forget that the teenager was in the room. Harry didn't mind, listening with rapt attention until Snape started snoring.

The next morning, Snape woke up, grumpy as ever, to find a breakfast with tea, several hangover potions, and a note from Potter assuring him that Granger rather than he had made the potions. After Snape had recovered from his hangover, he sighed and stretched.

Maybe the news of the Marshals, and his imminent death, could wait a few more days.

Maybe.

And until then, he'd see if Potter wanted to hear more stories about Lily.

And if he couldn't tell the wizarding world, he could teach its most famous Dark Lord destroyer a thing or two.

Only a few more days.

Once it had turned into a week and a half, Snape started worrying, even if he still hadn't admitted his desire to live to himself.


	3. Chapter 2: FastForward II

**Three Months After**

Arthur Weasley and Harry Potter sat in silence on a log overlooking the pond on the Weasley lands. The question that Harry had just asked lingered in the air. Arthur looked less whimsical and sharper than Harry had ever seen him in his life. On that note, Harry looked terrified in a way that Voldemort had never made him.

After about fifteen seconds of tense silence, Arthur chuckled. "It's really a little early for that, Harry."

"But…" Harry waved his hand in the air randomly. "When you and Mrs. Weasley…"

"Harry, you have to understand, those were completely different circumstances. We didn't know if we'd even be alive from one day to the next, and besides, we were at least in our early 20s. When do you plan on marrying my daughter?"

"As soon as I can," said Harry bravely, even if he couldn't keep a little tremor out of his voice.

Arthur shook his head, a dry smile on his face. "Harry…why are you in such a hurry?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and looked at the pond. "I don't know," he finally confessed.

"There's no need to be in such a hurry. Really, there isn't. You're not even eighteen for another month. Ginny just turned seventeen. A couple of months ago, you would have still legally needed my and Molly's approval to marry her, and I don't think I would have given it."

Harry shot him a dismayed look.

Arthur shrugged. "You're both too young. You are a man, but you aren't the man you'll become. Ginny is a young woman, but she isn't the woman she will be for the rest of her life. For all you know, it may yet end in heartbreak."

Harry outright glared at him a minute, and then his eyes dipped and he bit his lip.

"It's too early to make this decision, Harry."

Harry rubbed his forehead. "But I feel like…like…I don't know. I really love her, and I want to be with her the rest of my life."

"But will you feel that way a year from now? Or three? Or thirty?"

"I'm just not sure."

"Then wait until you are, my boy. And wait until she's sure. How long have you seriously been dating?"

"Well, if you count the time I was in the woods in a tent…"

"No, we probably shouldn't count that."

"Erm…five months?"

"Then the answer is no. God, my boy, take some time to really get to know her. Take some time to date her, take some time to be engaged, the whole process. There is no hurry. You're young, you have so much time."

Harry nodded. He stared off into the pond awhile. Arthur looked at him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm not just giving this advice as Ginny's father. I'm giving it as a father to you. Wait."

**One Year After**

"Okay," Harry said, clapping his hands. He closed his eyes. "Hit me."

"This is the ninth time today," growled the man across the dungeon. Snape half-moved to put a hand on his shoulder, then decided against it. "You have dinner with the head of the Department. If I'm going to do this, I'm doing it subtle."

"Well then? Go for it."

Snape sighed. _"Legilimens."_

For the next half an hour, anyone entering the room would have seen two men with their eyes closed, one pointing a wand at the other, with very little further movement. Harry twitched a few times, and Snape smiled through the last ten – which probably would have been enough to scare off any onlooker.

Finally, Snape lowered his wand arm, and both participants opened their eyes again. Harry blinked once or twice, rubbed his eyes, and looked at his mentor.

Snape genuinely grinned. "Not a chance. Not a chance I would have broken that, not even had I been given a year. The Dark Lord? Probably not even him, either. Unless you were in the middle of intercourse. Mental shields tend to go down during that."

Harry's eyes widened in alarm. "If you're going to do another surprise attack…" 

"No, we finished with those six months ago. And as dedicated as I am to finally teaching you this…"

"About four years and nine months too late…" Harry muttered.

"Ahem. As dedicated as I am, that does not include bursting into Grimmauld Place to find you and Ms. Weasley…engaged. I've seen enough of that when I succeeded those times, thank you."

"I never told her about that." 

"I don't expect you did. I don't expect you told her mother about the kitchen, either."

Harry groaned. "I forgot you saw that one."

"As a future warning, the kitchen never ends well."

"How would you know?" 

Snape actually looked mildly affronted. "I have regained a…social life in the last two years, Potter."

"I still doubt it involves _that."_

"That's more than you should ever know."

"Unless I decide to learn Legilimency." 

"Not from me, you won't. I was never as good at it as Albus or the Dark Lord. Occlumency's different."

A hesitant rap on the door put a stop to their conversation. As Harry, jolted by a glance at his watch, picked up his bag and adjusted his dress robes, Snape stalked over to the door and opened it. A small first-year student, far less terrified than a student of just a couple of years ago would have been greeting this man, handed in his badly scrawled essay.

"You wanted this early for corrections, Professor?"

"Yes. Congratulations, you're one of the few dunderheads to turn it in so far." In marked contrast to his time with Harry, "dunderheads" had an affectionate undertone to it.

As Snape began to close the door, Harry moved towards it.

"It's been a pleasure, and I actually mean it."

Snape inclined his head.

"Oh, and Hermione wants me to remind you that you still haven't written her recommendation to Avalon."

"She has nine months until the application is done, you know."

"We both know what she's like." 

"At least she's continuing her education, unlike some of us who want to be Aurors." 

"Only Neville and I. Though I still don't think his heart's in it."

"I thought Weasley was going to…" 

"He decided against it…I didn't think he really wanted to either. Quidditch is his thing. Me though? Catching Dark Wizards is what I am, after all. Never been any other way."

Snape looked at him curiously. "You want a normal life. I know you want that." 

Harry returned his gaze. "It's different now. I'm not in anybody's bloody crosshairs. I'm just another Auror. And it pays well." 

"As if you need…" 

"I know. I know."

"So…why then? Why not play Quidditch?"

"Ron's approaching Quidditch from the right angle – he's gunning to be a coach. Me? I'd have how many years as a seeker before age and injuries caught up with me? Ten? What do I do after that?"

Snape exhaled softly. He looked at this young man in front of him, a young man ready to face anything but the prospect of being useless. They were a lot alike in many ways…and if he only knew what he'd be facing in another few years, he'd take a little time off.

But Snape couldn't tell him. Couldn't even begin. The most he could do was prepare him for it.

"What are we doing next Monday?" Harry asked, facing the door, away from Snape.

"Wandless," said the other man in defeat.

"Sounds difficult." 

"Without a strong mind? Impossible."

"Good thing I have one. See you then, Severus." Harry walked out the door in a rush, trying to get away from truths he didn't want to acknowledge. Snape closed the door, trying to forget truths he already did.

**Three Years After**

"Why is she always in charge?" muttered Ron to Neville as they hung shimmering decorations from the ceiling of the Burrow with their wands. He was watching Hermione with something akin to a mixture of pride and bemusement. She was bustling around the kitchen, giving people instructions and wringing her hands. She looked positively frantic and not a little unhinged, as Ron had quickly learned she acted when things got disorganized and frustrating. She had looked just like this when she had to finish an article for _Transfiguration Today _fifteen hours before it was due to the editors.

"Can you imagine a world without her in charge of practically any situation she finds herself in that doesn't involve Dark Wizards?" Neville asked calmly, concentrating on his wand work as the streamers wound themselves around a peg. "Cause Harry usually covers those."

"Or Quidditch," said Ron.

"Only cause she doesn't care about Quidditch," Neville pointed out. "If she did, she'd control it too."

Ron grinned. He was currently a junior Quidditch strategist for the Chudley Cannons and reserve Keeper. It was the strategist part where he was making his mark; already the Cannons had gone from bottom of the league to somewhere just below the middle. And he'd had to play Keeper in a few games, and that hadn't gone too shabbily either. "My Mum could probably beat her out there. Or even your Gran."

Neville looked longingly at the decorations. Ron gave him a friendly punch in the shoulder.

"You'll get one of your own soon. A party, I mean."

Neville nodded. "Yeah. Not as many people, though."

"Oy! Don't be like that. That was me, not too long ago, you know. We're always gonna have a toe or two in his shadow. We should just accept it and move on."

With a meaningful glance, the two men waved their wands again, causing a series of balloons to warp themselves into a set of letters: "Happy Auror Graduation Harry".

"That 'A' is off," muttered Hermione, racing by. "George, the cake needs to move into the living room, he can't see it when he comes in!"

Neville fixed the "A" calmly. "Can I murder your girlfriend, Ron?"

"You could try." Ron peeked out the window. "They'll be here any minute." 

"Who's actually at his graduation?" Neville wondered aloud.

"Just Gin and our parents. And Teddy, of course. And probably a hundred reporters. And almost certainly Dennis Creevey."

"Would this set of streamers look good over the sink?"

"Mum'll kill you if you put anything near her sink."

"Fair point, mate." Neville stopped. "Did you hear that?"

Ron looked out the window. "Shit. _They're here," _he half-shouted into the living room. A little shriek was heard.

Ron tapped himself on the head with his wand and promptly faded into the kitchen. Neville waved his hands at him, half-panicked, and Ron tapped him too. "Never learned that one," the other man muttered.

"Why not?"

"Aurors prefer invisibility cloaks. Take less energy, you get hit and it doesn't fade."

"Ssh."

Already, they could hear Mrs. Weasley. "…the nerve of that woman, showing up everywhere you make an appearance! Ginny dear, you were right to hex her." 

"Molly, there are other ways to deal with issues…"

"Dad, you saw the way she shoved that parchment in his face. And it was harmless – I didn't even use Bat-Bogeys."

"Harry agrees with me, don't you Harry dear?"

"Erm…"

"Don't drag the poor fellow into it…"

Ron rolled his eyes. _They're taking forever. _

Finally, Harry was the first in, presumably to escape his borderline psychotic girlfriend and mother-in-law. At least, according to Rita Skeeter, who from the sound of it had had the misfortune of learning the truth of her accusations.

Upon entering, he saw decorations, signs of rushed activity, and subtle shifts in the air which indicated Disillusionment. He grinned. "Uh-oh."

From out of thin air, about twenty people burst from Disillusionment (and Hermione from underneath an Invisibility Cloak) and screamed, "Congratulations!"

"Were you really surprised?" asked Ron, grinning, knowing the answer.

"Not really," said Harry. His face looked about to split in two from his grin. "But I have a surprise of my own."

"What's that?"

At these words, and amidst a huge amount of chaotic congratulations and questions that Harry obviously wasn't listening for, Ginny Weasley forced her way in the door. "I'm going to warn the world that I'm in a hexing mood right now, so if the rest of you don't let me through to hug my boyfriend…"

Said boyfriend was already going to a knee. It was now Ron's turn to grin, because Harry had already mentioned this. As Harry pulled a box out of his pocket, Mrs. Weasley started squealing, Hermione had already turned "beaming" up to 11, and Teddy, gripping Mrs. Weasley's hand, stared in wide-eyed wonder. Ginny was speechless and already starting to tear up.

Harry asked the question.

What followed was probably the only time Ron ever felt comfortable watching his best friend and sister snog.

**Three Years, 361 days after**

Antonin Dolohov sat in a large chair behind his desk. Before him were his three top lieutenants: Rabastan, Fenrir, and a valuable American witch named Bethany.

"Everything is ready?"

"Yes, Lord Regent." Dolohov had adopted the title about three months after the Dark Lord's fall. He needed one, both to maintain authority and to maintain organization. The Death Eaters were now more trained, organized, and prepared than at any time under the Dark Lord. Titles helped. So did uniforms. So did harsh, but most importantly, _fair _discipline. Dolohov played no favorites, especially not now, at the beginning of the new Reign of Terror. England would be his, and he would play carrot and stick until he had everything he desired.

If you had a large enough stick, any carrot seems appetizing.

"Remember, casualties are not our goal. Impact – that is our goal. We carry this out correctly, it is the first step. And we have to keep them waiting. If this does not have the impact we need, we hit again after three days."

After Dolohov had dismissed them, he turned to the wall and waved his wand. Five pictures appeared on the wall. Five Grand Marshals. Five Dark Lords. He knew of the location of one; he was a public figure, not too difficult. The other three, he had heard of. He knew that they had been growing secretly for the last four years. They had had agendas before they decided to work with the Dark Lord, and they all had different agendas now.

But the fifth. This Anthony Cheever…there had been no sign of him since Dolohov had seen him once in the recesses of the Riddle house. Not a rumor, no trace. Like he had never existed.

Dolohov shrugged. Deal with the opponents you know. His biggest foe right now was the Ministry of Magic – and Harry Potter. First order of business, to be conducted tomorrow. Kill Harry Potter, and you kill the confidence of the Wizarding World. Kill their hero, their savior, the victory banner of the First War and the Reason To Keep Fighting of the Second. Quickest solution to the problem.

Perhaps the Dark Lord wasn't so far wrong, after all.


	4. Chapter 3: Unsuspecting

**Four Years After**

Ron and Hermione threaded their way through the crowd in Diagon Alley. Seeing as it was around noon, many members of the crowd were carrying out their lunchtime errands. Hands clasped, they moved towards the small outdoors lunch spot that sat a few storefronts down from Gringotts.

When they finally arrived, Hermione glanced around. Their usual table was occupied.

"One over here, love." Ron moved towards a table that was significantly closer to the actual café.

"Did I ever tell you how I always thought Wizarding London was much smaller than it actually is?" Hermione asked. "Before I got my apartment here."

"Me too. Mum never let us wander very far, so we never got into the residential areas or the factories and all. Tip of the iceberg, I say."

As they seated themselves, Hermione looked around. "He'd better not eat in his office again. All he has are those cookies and crackers."

"Better than when we were kids, binging on candy half the time." Ron shuffled his foot. "I think I've got gum on my shoe."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "He'd better remember it's Thursday, too. He works too much." 

"We all work too much. You finished your Sorceress degree in a year and a half, natch. Took Dad three years, and his Strength was Charms. You had three Strengths." Hermione glared at him. "And now you want a Professorship. Don't you want to tour Europe or something?"

"Of course. I'm going to Italy with my parents next month."

"Yes. For a project."

"Alright, now you're splitting hairs."

"I always find you two like this, you know," snarked Harry as he sat down in the third chair.

"Nice of you to show up," huffed Hermione. But she smiled.

A house-elf came by for their order. She still looked awkward when the trio said "please" and "thank you," but accepted it far better than she would have a few years ago. She even noticeably recognized Hermione and Harry, but said nothing.

"You're not tipping her," chided Ron when the server was gone.

"Of course I am!"

Harry wrinkled his brow. "I think the last time you did that, the poor guy had a seizure."

"Sorry, 'Mione. You've got to give them time though."

Hermione huffed again, but seemed calmer. Harry and Ron exchanged a glance. The Wizarding world had had a "Voldemort backlash" after his defeat, and Hermione had been vocal in getting several liberal laws passed, including new graft and corruption laws and a strengthening of the General Assembly, the elected representatives of Wizarding Britain, at the expense of the Wizengamot, traditionally dominated by old Wizarding families. One of the new laws was the institution of a wage for house-elves. It had gone about as well as you'd expect, until compromises, such as established minimum hours and an Abuse Law, had been implemented to please the elves. It was still taking time for both parties to get used to it, though, and tipping was still completely beyond the pale.

However, both Hermione's best friend and her boyfriend had long agreed that her intentions were good, and had accomplished a lot.

"How's work, Harry?"

Harry sighed. "We're still having difficulty bringing some of the last few Death Eaters to trial. Lack of evidence."

"No Pensieve work?"

"Not for these guys. They left most of their victims…dead. And we keep getting Dementor sightings in Wales."

"Never quite done with them, are we?"

"_We_? I still can't deal with the bloody things as well as most Aurors. Weak spot of mine. They started Kissing Death Eaters near the end, you know. Even Voldemort couldn't keep much of a handle on them."

"Most of the last Death Eaters still deserve them." Ron shrugged. "Most."

"I don't think we'll ever trust them enough to let them back into Britain, let alone guard our prisoners," Harry said.

"That could backfire on us," Hermione piped up. "The way the giants did."

"This is quite the depressing conversation." Ron said nonchalantly, the way he tended to do when they discussed serious subjects.

"Why do you guys keep asking about my work then?" asked Harry with feigned annoyance.

"Well, we could always talk about Quidditch and leave Hermione out. Or the two of you could talk about different spells and politics and leave me out. Or Hermione and I could argue and leave you out. Frankly, your work is the best option we have, mate."

Then he looked past Harry. "But if you really want an interesting conversation…" 

"Hello, Harry. I see you're letting your hair grow again."

"Hello, Luna" was the general chorus. She smiled.

"It's good to see I'm not interrupting anything. I feel the conversation had stagnated before I came over here."

"Not really, but you're still welcome," said Hermione happily.

"It's alright if I'm not. Harry already appears to be a fifth wheel, and I would hate to be a sixth."

Harry blinked. "I've never…"

"If Harry wasn't here, Hermione and I would fight all the time rather than most of the time," said Ron. Hermione gave him The Look again, but turned back to Luna when she sat.

"How are you, Luna?" Hermione asked.

Luna pushed back some of her scraggly hair. "I'm fine. Although reporting is tedious work, and the truth is more elusive than a Snorkack." 

"Agreed," muttered Harry.

"I also haven't had sex in a while, I'm afraid. Ever since Rolf and I broke up, things have been quite slow on that front."

Hermione gaped. Ron smiled a little – having grown up with Luna close by all his life, he was used to it. Harry was trying not to burst out laughing.

"I'm…sorry, Luna."

She shrugged. "It's okay. I've already made you uncomfortable, so I won't talk about that anymore. Oh, do they have Reubens here?" She started sifting through the menu.

Ron was about to respond, but never got a chance before the explosion happened.


	5. Chapter 4: Shock

_That doesn't taste good, _was Harry's first thought. His eyes were closed. His sense of smell was revolting at whatever it was picking up. He heard nothing but the ocean.

Was that the ocean? 

And he was lying on his side on some rock. For all he knew, he could have been at the seaside again, like with Ginny last summer, lying on the rocky cliff, falling asleep to the sound of the crashing waves.

Except that there was no warm arm around his stomach, and this weird taste in his mouth. When he was nine, he had licked a flagpole because Dudley had told him to. Dudley had left him stuck to the flagpole in the middle of winter, and later on that week he had pushed Harry into the dirt when Harry called him a rude name. This right here was a combination of the two…dirt and iron.

And his head hurt now.

Harry opened his eyes.

Most of what he saw was blurry. Someone had laid him down so he was facing the interior of Diagon Alley. What he did see were a bunch of shapes in the middle of the street, and a bunch of people huddled around the area. The storefront across the way – he thought it was a Gladrags – was gone, and he could see the inside of the store. People were in there too.

His head really hurt.

Finally he felt someone grab his shoulder from behind. He could feel warm breath at his ear, but still heard nothing.

Finally, something faint. Someone calling him? His father? Was that his father?

"HARRY!"

There was a sharp pain in his side, and he exhaled suddenly. A random bystander had stepped on him.

All of a sudden, the world came back into focus. Harry jerked like a jolt of electricity had gone through his body. He suddenly knew where he was, who he should be with, and what day it was. Dudley was gone, Ginny was at work, his father was dead.

He still didn't know what had happened, though.

It took him a few seconds to realize that he seemed to be physically okay – couple of bruises on his arm that he could see, and a splitting headache, and he had probably bitten his tongue and been thrown somewhere by whatever that was, which would explain the bloody dirty taste in his mouth – but his mind was still scrambling to gather itself together, like a child grabbing for a bunch of balloons that are floating away.

Finally, a face dropped right in front of his. Ron looked him straight in the eyes.

"YOU ALRIGHT MATE?"

Harry tried to get to his feet, but his head threatened to boil over. Ron immediately jumped to his feet and grabbed Harry under the armpits.

"I…don't…"

"SURE YOU DO MATE." Had Ron gone deaf?

With Ron's support, Harry got back to his feet. He blinked a couple times and put a steadying hand on his forehead, only to discover that he still couldn't see well.

"Ron mate. Where…where are my glasses mate?"

"WHAT?"

"Where are my glasses?"

Ron placed them in his hand. Harry almost dropped them. He gripped them with both hands carefully – he was still wobbly on his feet – and rubbed the lenses gently with his thumbs to wipe off the dust and to make sure they were intact. As he lifted them, Ron put a restraining hand on his bicep.

"BE READY, MATE. WON'T LIKE WHAT YOU SEE."

Harry swallowed, blinked, put on the glasses.

Yeah, Gladrags was gone. Most of the storefront was simply…removed. One board dangled from what had been a window frame precariously. Part of the second floor, its support gone, had collapsed in a shower of old wood and nails onto the first. There was a small hand sticking out from under the collapsed floor. It wasn't moving.

Harry was right beside where their table was overturned. There was a haze of dust covering most everything, but much of the initial smoke had cleared. People in robes stood in a huge mass around the site, and at least ten bodies lay in the middle of the street. At least ten. Some were incomplete. Harry thought he was numb to death…well. It had been a while. But what got him most was that these people…there was a little woman. A pretty woman. Most of her – she was missing part of her upper torso. An arm and a breast. Missing. Ragged hole where they had been. She was still smiling, but not even peacefully. Like she had been in the middle of a joking conversation. She had a purse. Little faux diamonds were arranged on the purse. Harry was less than two meters from the purse and he could see them, pretty little faux diamonds. In a little circle. Eight. Eight faux diamonds. Harry started counting them. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. The four at the top were slightly larger than

"HARRY!"

Harry looked over at Ron's panicked face, and then suddenly past him.

Hermione was hunched over Luna and pressing a large bundle of her robes – torn up to the thigh – into Luna's stomach. Luna was paler than usual, and lay still. A small trickle of blood traced down her cheek from her mouth, and the cloth in Hermione's hands was rapidly growing darker. Hermione's arms were covered in blood up to the elbows. Looking just behind them, Harry saw why. The house-elf that had been serving lay in the corner. A large piece of ceramic pottery stuck into its side.

"HARRY! WE NEED TO GET LUNA OUT OF HERE!"

"We can't move her, Ron," said Hermione in a strangled voice, not even raising her head. "I can't Apparate her when we're like this. The Mediwizards will be here soon."

Harry stared forward again. Then, far calmer than he felt, he asked, "What was it?"

"An explosion," said Ron simply. The deafness seemed to be finally wearing off. "What kind? Bloody Hell if I know."

Harry stumbled forward. Ron looked at him a minute, and then followed, without a word. Hermione ignored them, concentrating on Luna.

Harry gazed around, trying for the life of him not to get fixated on one of the bodies around him, instead looking for whatever could have done this. No potioneer would have allowed this to happen; explosions of cauldrons only happened in student-level potions, where proper care was not taken like a professional would. Experimental magic wasn't done on Diagon Alley. And there was no spell that could do…this. Spells like the one that had killed Fred at Hogwarts had just been powerful Reductors, not explosions in and of themselves.

Something Muggle? But why here?

"…is that Harry Potter…"

God damn it. Couldn't they stop for anything? 

"Liverpool too…"

Harry paused, then turned towards the man that had said that. "What did you just say?"

The man was panting. "I just Apparated here from Liverpool. Claudia Street. They had something happen there too. Couldn't…"

"Something happen?" Harry snapped. "What happened?"

"I don't know. About five people dead there."

Harry nodded, feeling a growing rush of sickness in his stomach. He looked at the crowd as a whole. "Help get these people out of here."

As some moved towards the bodies, Harry turned to Ron.

"This wasn't an accident." He took a shuffling step forward, almost fell over, and gripped someone's shoulder to steady himself. He didn't look to see who. "This was done with intent. Somebody did it."

"Why?"

"_I don't know, _Ron. But…I think this was something…Muggle…"

Ron's eyes widened. He looked around at the mass of people, crying, gazing, helping pick up bodies, and a couple of screams of agony. He shuddered. "Lot of people here."

"Yeah." 

"Harry?"

"What?"

"What if there's another one?"

Harry stopped kneading his forehead. He turned a bit, looking at the crowd again. There were, if possible, more people here than there had been.

"Oh, shit."

Ron immediately moved to the side of the street. "They'd have hidden it…" 

Harry forced himself to snap back to attention. He kept wanting to wander out of focus and be somewhere, anywhere, else besides this plaza of blood and pain.

He pulled out his wand, pleased to see that it at least was still intact, and muttered _"Sonorous" _at his throat.

"_Would everybody not helping please move away. There may still be a danger."_

That busted it. The crowd immediately began churning in the other direction. Harry gasped a bit at the stench and moved to the opposite side of the collapsed storefront from Ron, flipping over boxes of goods and random potion ingredients, making sure nothing was hidden inside them.

He had only been at it a couple of minutes before he heard Ron shout, "Harry! Don't think wizards use wires!"

Harry walked back over to where Ron was. The redhead was sitting on top of a wooden box, wiping his forehead.

"Under there?"

Ron nodded weakly. "It's definitely Muggle, Harry. I know wires. Dad collects them."

Harry gestured for Ron to get off the box. Ron did so. When he had, Harry could clearly see the wires looped around several of the boards.

"I sat on the box cause people were running around, and I was afraid…one of them would hit the box, the wires would be pulled, and…I don't know. For all I know that could cause it to go off."

"That's probably what these assholes wanted." Harry examined the bomb carefully.

"Cause a mass panic, then have a box kicked around, kill more people."

Harry bit his lip. "What do we do now?"

"I've watched crime shows on Hermione's telly sometimes. Muggles have bomb squads. We don't. Don't think a single wizard knows what to do in this situation."

"It's a dilemma," Harry muttered. "I have seen enough to know that if you pull the wrong wire…"

"Absolutely. We'll go pulling no wires then."

Harry looked behind him. There were still wounded people around, and if this bomb was as big as the last, it would easy kill them all. Not to mention Hermione and Luna; this one was closer to the café.

"Apparently just touching it doesn't cause it to go off…" 

"Or moving it. It had already been kicked around a bit when I got to it."

"Do you think it would object to being levitated?"

"There any wards on it?" Ron looked expectantly at Harry. Aurors were trained to detect, and evade wards.

Harry cast some simple revelation spells. "None. I think it would be pretty hard to hook up a magical trigger to a Muggle device anyway."

"They made it able to work near a lot of magic. Most Muggle technology can't do that. They already did something to it."

"Well. Here goes." Harry braced himself. _"Wingardium Leviosa."_

The bomb rose gently into the air. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing had been jostled enough to set it off.

Ron shrugged. "That's all well and good. Now how do we get rid of it?"

"Drop it in the ocean?" 

"Because we're next to an ocean." 

"We can get there."

"We're not Flooing that thing. Nowhere to Floo it over the ocean, and do it in somebody's house near the seaside? You lose grip on it during the Floo…especially with your history with the Floo…"

"We could Portkey it. Push it into the Portkey so it pops up over the North Atlantic."

"Or you could always Apparate to the seaside."

"I'll do that." 

"The Muggles will wonder."

"Let them wonder. We're not breaking the Statute of Secrecy."

"No, let me do it," Ron said. He stepped forward and placed both hands on either side of the bomb. Harry kept his wand trained on it until Ron had safely tucked it under his arm. Ron pulled out his wand.

"You be careful, mate," Harry said. His stomach was still churning unhappily. He wanted to scream, cry, do anything. He was afraid to feel anything right now, worry for Ron, grief for Luna, concern for what might be going on across Britain, if this wasn't just limited to Wizarding London and Wizarding Liverpool…he was afraid if he started to feel anything right now, he would go insane.

With a crack, Ron was gone. Harry turned on unsteady feet and went to tell Hermione what had just happened, and that he had to get back to the Ministry, he had a job to do.


End file.
